


Loving Howlers

by watermelon_extract



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Howler, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watermelon_extract/pseuds/watermelon_extract
Summary: Draco decides to send Harry love messages with a cleverly charmed Howler.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 278





	Loving Howlers

**Author's Note:**

> This is not only my first time writing a HP fic, but my first time writing any sort of fanfiction in general. I hope it was okay for a first go! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D

Draco watched the other side of the Great Hall furtively, doing his best to appear completely absorbed in his breakfast. But that was hard to do, especially when he saw the school owl he had chosen the night before make its way towards the Gryffindor table.

A thrilling tingle of anticipation shot through Draco’s body, beginning at his head and rushing down through his toes. It was finally time to put his weeks of research and experimentation to the test, to see whether or not his spellwork would hold. Merlin, he hoped it would work. It would be enough to put a smile on his face for the rest of the year. Even if he wouldn’t let anyone see it.

The chaotic chatter of the Great Hall fell to quiet murmurs as Harry reluctantly reached towards the owl, the crowds no doubt wondering who in their right mind would send a Howler to Harry after his victory over Voldemort. And had Draco not been the sender, he, too, would have been outraged. Quietly, of course. But if everything worked according to plan, this wouldn’t be any ordinary Howler.

“You’d best open it, mate,” Weasley said, the near silence of the room doing nothing to hide the angry tone of his voice. He glared around. “Maybe someone will recognize the voice, and we go give the bastard what they deserve.”

Draco smirked to himself, bringing a piece of toast up to his mouth to hide his face. It wouldn’t be his voice, he’d made sure of it—the spell to disguise his voice had been one of the easier ones to figure out, in the grand scheme of things. His own voice, which he liked to think of as somewhat distinctive, would be replaced with a voice impossible to identify.

And sure enough, the voice that rang out across the room was extraordinarily normal, impossible to place. “Harry Potter!” the voice screeched. “You are the biggest git I have ever met! I can’t believe the audacity…”

By this point, Weasley’s face was purple with anger, and it was all Granger could do to keep him from launching himself and his food across the room in a fit of rage. But that wasn’t what Draco was interested in—no, he was far more interested in Harry’s reaction. That was the true test.

And sure enough, instead of looking offended or chagrined, a flustered blush came over Harry’s cheeks, and he glanced around the room in a confused daze. _Perfect_. Draco turned back to his breakfast, a sense of triumph bubbling up in his chest.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” he heard Granger ask. She had clearly picked up on the fact that Harry’s reaction was not at all the angry one it should have been. Draco didn’t dare turn around to look, but he sat as still as possible to hear Harry’s reply.

“I don’t understand,” came Harry’s reply. Draco could practically hear the bemused frown in his voice. “Who would send me a Howler just to tell me that I should take better care of myself? Why couldn’t they just say it to my face?”

“Um, mate? Are you okay?” Weasley ventured in his typical blunt fashion. Draco wasn’t at all surprised. “Hit your head too hard this morning or something?”

“What do you mean?”

“Harry,” Granger interjected, and Draco could imagine the way she placed one hand on Harry’s shoulder while using the other arm to elbow Weasley in the side for his brutishness. Honestly, they were so predictable it hurt to think about. “You must’ve heard wrong. There wasn’t anything about you taking care of yourself—I don’t know who, but someone just yelled at you for being an idiot.”

“But…” Harry trailed off in confusion, and Merlin if that wasn’t the cutest reaction Draco could’ve hoped for. Before his heart could flutter any more at Harry’s cluelessness—why that was even remotely adorable, Draco had no idea—he stood up and joined the stream of students leaving the Great Hall to get to class.

~/~/~/~/~

By the next morning, the mystery of Harry’s strange Howler had spread throughout the school, and nearly every student had been in the Great Hall since the beginning of breakfast in the hope of seeing another Howler arrive.

Draco relished in the satisfaction of being able to create this much of a stir. He’d been cast into the shadows since the end of the war, not explicitly hated but certainly not included in anyone’s vision of the future. He was simply on the sidelines, a spectator as the rest of the world moved forward.

In the grand scheme of things, being on the sidelines wasn’t too bad. Draco had expected to be hated, stomped all over and spat upon by those who felt he owed them reparations for his part in the war. But as bitter as people were, he seemed to have escaped their derision; perhaps there had been an unspoken agreement in the Wizarding World to let bygones be bygones and not start more decades of pointless fighting.

But Draco was used to being in the spotlight in one way or another, and this sudden lack of any attention whatsoever was remarkably disorienting. He was used to creating a stir, to eliciting reactions from people, whether those reactions were good or not. Admittedly, he found himself floundering a bit without the motivation to constantly conduct himself in a proper manner to uphold his reputation.

As he was learning, though, causing a stir without being the center of attention was just as fulfilling, if not more so. To be honest, Draco was tired of putting on a show for whoever was watching, acting like he was expected to instead of how he wanted to. It was bloody annoying in the best of times, exhausting and dehumanizing at the worst. But this latest scheme of his—now, that was the real him. Draco took great satisfaction in ignoring his father’s voice in his head that told him things like _Malfoys don’t respect the Muggle Studies teacher_ and _Malfoys don’t fall in love with Harry Potter._

For as incorrigible and snobbish as Draco had acted towards his teachers in years past, he truly loved learning in a way that only someone like Granger would understand. Those hours spent in the library, poring over book after book and piecing together the bits of knowledge they offered to perfect his charms—well, Draco hadn’t enjoyed himself quite so much ever, really, and certainly not since the end of the war. It provided an escape from worrying about his mother, all alone in the manor after his father had been exiled to France. And while Draco had felt horribly guilty since fourth year about being a downright git to Harry, he couldn’t deny that riling Harry up wasn’t fun.

That was another thing. Draco had long envied Weasley and Granger for their ability to support Harry, not that he’d admit it to another living soul. But around the same time that Draco began to feel guilty for being such a prat, he had realized _why_ he felt so guilty—and that realization had not been an easy one to deal with. Because when he got rid of all the fake hatred, all that was left was…affection? An affection Draco had dismissed as purely friendly at first, because that was the easy way out. But it wasn’t true, and he knew it.

The Howlers were Draco’s way—a very Slytherin way, but a way nonetheless—of supporting Harry from the sidelines, letting him know that he was loved in a way beyond the blatant hero-worship that he knew Harry despised. Because yes, Harry was a hero to Draco, but a _human_ one, not an all-powerful savior. Draco knew Harry’s humanity all too well, and had scars crisscrossing his chest to prove it.

The abnormally hushed chatter in the Great Hall came to a complete standstill as an owl swooped down to perch himself primly on Harry’s head. Draco had chosen that owl from the school Owlery because he thought the little furry thing’s fiery personality would amuse Harry, and indeed, Harry chuckled at the new presence resting among his mop of hair.

“Come on, now, you,” he said gently, his voice loud and clear amid the silence. The owl hooted indignantly but hopped onto the finger Harry offered all the same.

It seemed as though the whole student body and even the teachers had stopped breathing as Harry warily opened the red envelope. Once again, a nondescript voice rang out, ranting about Harry’s idiocy. But there were no outraged comments, not this time—the silence persisted until the yelling had ceased, until Granger broke the silence with a gentle, “Well?”

Draco turned around in his seat so that he could fully watch Harry. It certainly wouldn’t draw any extra attention to him, not when the rest of the students were just as openly interested. And even if it was a little odd that he was looking, it was all worth it to see Harry’s befuddled reaction.

Harry blinked rapidly at Granger’s question as if trying to force himself out of a daze. “Um…”

Weasley groaned. “Come on, mate, are you not going to tell us?”

Harry turned even pinker. “Erm, no, it’s fine. They said that they—they loved how selfless I am but that I deserve just as much as I give, which is quite literally the world.” Harry buried his head in his hands, but even from my position across the room, Draco could see the tips of his ears burning bright red.

Weasley cackled delightedly. “Merlin, someone’s flirting game is top notch today.” He scanned the room. “I know everyone is listening, so if you’re the one sending these messages, send a hint in your next letter, will you? Or at least tell how you did the spellwork, I’m sure George would love to get his hands on this. Whatever it is, it’s bloody brilliant!”

How ironic, Draco thought. If only Weasley knew who exactly he was complimenting, well, he’d probably turn green at the thought. It was quite enjoyable to think about.

Weasley’s statement sent the room back into excited chatter, and like everyone else, Draco turned back to his breakfast, though he didn’t have anyone to talk to. None of his Slytherin yearmates had returned after the war, and none of the younger ones wanted to associate with him. Which, Draco was willing to admit, was quite reasonable. If he was anyone else, he wouldn’t want to associate with himself either.

So, instead of talking with a friend, Draco spent the rest of breakfast definitely not watching Harry as he gazed about the room determinedly, no doubt trying to figure out who it was that was sending him the messages.

Hopefully, Draco thought, he would never find out.

~/~/~/~/~

“What kind of hint is ‘You’d never guess without a hint’?” Draco heard Weasley grumble. The Golden Trio had settled in the library for the weekly afternoon of mandatory study time, as dictated by Granger, and Draco had parked himself nearby, hidden on three sides by towering bookshelves and complete with a sturdy Disillusionment Charm just in case. He had hoped, correctly of course, that Harry and Weasley would be so desperate to avoid studying that they would try to draw Granger’s attention away with a good mystery.

“I don’t get it at all,” Harry said glumly, which did not surprise Draco in the least. Both he and Weasley had always been oblivious to a fault. They wouldn’t recognize the truth unless it was written out in front of them in colorful, blinking letters. And even then, Draco thought, a wryly amused smirk on his face, they’d still find some way to deny it. Not when the truth was him.

“You’d never be able to guess without a hint,” Granger repeated thoughtfully. “Along with the fact that whoever is sending these is brilliant with charms, and they’re determined to keep their identity a secret…well, I can really only think of one person who fits all the criteria. Can’t you?”

Harry’s sharp intake of breath was audible, even with the shelves between them muffling the sound. “Who?”

“I think I’ll let you puzzle over it a bit more. Don’t think I haven’t realized your attempts to get out of studying, boys.” The amusement in Granger’s voice made Draco chuckle, but it also sent a jittery feeling tingling through his limbs. Because if Granger had guessed right—and he didn’t doubt she had—he suspected he’d soon be getting a talking to.

He just hoped it wasn’t an angry one. Granger was logical. Right?

~/~/~/~/~

Draco looked up from his Potions essay as someone else set their books down on the table. Granger. Merlin, he was done for.

“So,” she said.

“So,” Draco repeated weakly, silently contemplating making a run for the door. But that certainly wouldn’t end well.

“Spill.”

Draco considered denying what she was talking about, but there wasn’t really a point. Granger was really bloody clever, maybe even more so than him. There was no getting anything past her. So he just sighed. “If I have your word you won’t go blabber about this to everyone. What do you want to know?”

“How’d you do it?”

“Is that really what you want to know?” Draco asked critically. “Out of all the things, that’s the most important?”

“Well…” Hermione floundered, tugging at a strand of hair. “Yes, you’re right. Don’t think I won’t wring it out of you later, though. These are even better than those badges you made in fourth year.”

Draco’s face burned at the reminder, and he groaned. “Don’t bring that up, I was such a slimy git back then, I feel awful.” He looked up to meet Granger’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Granger, I really am. I treated you horribly.”

“It’s okay. Well, not really, but I forgive you. I know you were under a lot of pressure, Draco. And please, call me Hermione. But we’ve wandered off topic again. How long?”

The patterns in the wood of the table were suddenly very interesting, but Draco knew trying to withhold answers would only provoke her, and, well, maybe it would be easier to spend time with Harry if Hermione liked him. “Fourth year. He was getting so much crap for being in the Triwizard Tournament when I knew it wasn’t his fault, because I heard my father talking about it. And I just…he didn’t deserve it, and I could tell it was tearing him up, and I just wanted to go up to him and give him a hug. That’s when I realized. It was downright terrifying.”

Hermione had a pensive look on her face. “Hence the turn of events at the Manor, I suppose, and the wand during the final battle…”

“Well, yes…It was a stupid crush at first, of course, but by then, well, I—I loved him. I couldn’t—” Draco swallowed a sudden sob. He’d always been prone to mood swings, but even more so since the war. And with his feelings for Harry thrown into the mix, he was a disaster. The Mind Healer he had seen over the summer liked the phrase “emotional fragility due to an unstable environment during childhood.” Draco preferred “messed up,” euphemisms be damned. “I couldn’t see him die, even if it meant getting tortured or killed. He deserved so much more than what he got.”

“As you’ve told him,” Hermione added wryly. “Very smooth, I’ll admit. Yes, okay, I think I understand.” She held out her hand. “Friends?”

Draco stared at her hand in awe. This was definitely not how he had expected this conversation to end. “I—are you sure?”

“Do I look unsure?” She shook her head. “Look, I know we have history, but I can see you’ve been trying to make amends, even if people generally ignore you. And, well, I know you’ve probably been telling yourself that it’s hopeless for years, but I don’t think it’s quite as hopeless as you’d think. As much as he’d kill me for saying this, I think Harry needs you.”

An involuntary scoff escaped Draco’s lips. “As if. He needs me about as much as he needs a Bludger to the face.”

Hermione gave him a stern look. “I’m serious. You should know how much he detests being idolized. And, well, I know you’ve seen him at his worst—yes, I know about the bathroom incident, don’t look so surprised. If you can still love him after that, then it’s real. He needs that.”

Draco scoffed again, but both his heart and his mind were racing with thoughts of Harry. “If you say so.”

“Indeed I do, Draco. Indeed I do.”

~/~/~/~/~

Draco didn’t quite know what to say when Granger—Hemione, now—sat herself down beside him in the eighth-year common room. It just simply wasn’t done—nobody acknowledged his presence, and certainly not the Golden Trio. But here she was, poking his shoulder and demanding in a quiet whisper that Draco tell her how he’d spelled the Howlers. Needless to say, it drew quite a few stares.

“Here?” Draco whispered back, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that someone was actually talking to him. It was an odd feeling to be included, to be acknowledged. Especially in a public space. “What if someone hears?”

Hermione waved a hand, not caring that they had an audience. “Do you think they’ll understand what we’re talking about? Even I haven’t been able to figure out how you did it. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I had some theories for Harry’s Howler mystery and wanted someone to consult. Someone who, unlike Harry and Ron, would actually be able to keep up. I love them, but they can be rather slow.”

“Fine, then.” He glanced around warily. “Can you do something to stop the staring, though? I’d rather not talk when every single person in the room is trying to listen in. I may not have many things to hide anymore, but if this gets out, I’m done for.”

“Fair enough.” Hermione raised her voice. “Nothing to see here, everyone, move along.”

Despite some grumbling and suspicious glances, the few eighth-years turned back to whatever they were doing, and the low murmurs rose back to their former level. Draco took a deep breath. “Well, I imagine the reason you haven’t figured it out yet is because you’re looking too hard. All I really did was adapt a typical Disillusionment Charm to work with voices, and in different layers. The hardest part was getting only the intended target to hear the true message, but if you’ve ever had a notebook or something that’s charmed to only open to your touch, well, it’s something like that.”

Hermione let out a fascinated hum and pulled a notebook from her bag to scribble some notes. “You’re right, I was making it too complicated. Still, that’s brilliant, being able to adapt such an obvious charm like that. I never would’ve thought of that. How many different layers are there?”

“Well, there’s the one to make the voice unidentifiable, of course. It’s the same voice for both messages. The base message is the one that everybody hears, because if it didn’t work, I’d rather have that message publicized than the other one. So the second layer is changing the base message to the real one for him. It’s really not that complicated once you understand how it works, but it took me a few weeks of research in the library to figure it all out. If you want some further reading, you might consider—”

“’Mione! What are you doing over there with _Malfoy_?” Draco heard Weasley call. He glanced over to his left to see Harry and Weasley clambering through the entrance to the common room, and his breath caught. He didn’t know where Harry and Weasley had just come from, though based on several tiny little braids in Harry’s hair, they were probably with Luna, and it was so adorable it made Draco want to cry.

Draco had made a point of trying to avoid Harry outside of classes and meals as much as possible. There was only so much yearning and wanting his heart could take before it got too painful to bear, before it wasn’t worth the happiness Draco got from seeing him. Being near him in the common room as well was simply too much, so Draco stood up to leave. But apparently Hermione had other ideas and tugged him sharply back down.

“We were just discussing some Charms theory, would you like to join us?”

Draco knew for a fact that Harry and Ron would not like to join the discussion. However, Draco also knew that Weasley would say yes to make sure that Draco wasn’t conducting any sort of funny business with his girlfriend, and Harry would join once both of his friends had joined. Hermione was far too clever, far too Slytherin for her own good.

And sure enough, Weasley grimaced but stomped his way over and sat down between Hermione and Draco. Which, of course, left the only spot for Harry right next to Draco. Dear Merlin, this would not be good for his heart.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly as he sat down so as not to disrupt Hermione and Weasley’s bickering. “I haven’t seen you around much this year.”

“Yeah,” was the only thing Draco would say in response to that. He couldn’t very well admit that he had been actively hiding from Harry, could he? “Harry? I want to thank you for speaking up at my trial, even though you didn’t have to. I—I’ll never be able to thank you enough for saving my family even though we were horrible to you. Even though _I_ was horrible to you.” Draco met Harry’s gaze and suddenly couldn’t help the tears swimming in his eyes. There was regret, so much regret. It was easier to push down when Harry wasn’t acknowledging him, but now that he was right here and staring into Draco’s eyes, he couldn’t take it anymore. Fuck, Draco hated his mood swings. They made him feel like an idiot. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Draco, please don’t cry,” Harry whispered, and Draco’s heart just about melted at the tender concern in Harry’s eyes, the tender concern directed impossibly at _him_. “You don’t need to cry.” But that only made Draco’s eyes burn more, and he bit down on his lip before he did something ridiculously daft like tell Harry he loved him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Harry leaned closer, shielding Draco from the stares with his broad shoulders, and Draco was grateful. It was bad enough to break down in front of Harry like this, but he didn’t want the whole room knowing he was on the verge of a breakdown. He’d stopped acting like what his father would call a proper Malfoy since the war, but that didn’t mean he had no pride at all. “When’s the last time someone hugged you, Draco? When’s the last time you felt like someone cared about you?”

Draco let out a hysterical laugh. “Merlin, I don’t fucking know. Mother used to hug me before I came to Hogwarts, I suppose. I—Harry?”

“Shh,” Harry chided, shifting so he could pull Draco flush against his chest. “Just stay here for a bit, okay? It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Draco whimpered, for it really had been years since he’d been held like he mattered. Nobody he knew was open in their affections, not like the Weasleys, he supposed, who were constantly invading each other’s personal space with hugs and pats and shoulder bumps. Draco used to scoff at displays of affection of any sort, really, but it was more out of jealousy than a true derision for physical contact. Because who was he kidding? He’d wanted to be wrapped up in Harry’s arms like this for years now. Or the arms of anyone who cared about him, really. But there weren’t exactly many people lining up.

And Merlin, it felt amazing. Harry’s arms were warm and solid around his torso, and Draco felt as though he was wrapped in a bubble of protection and comfort. Not to mention Harry’s body heat was through the roof, and just being near him felt like the pleasant warmth of a Warming Charm. Draco took a deep breath and tried to memorize the feeling of being held like this, held by _Harry_ , because it was utterly perfect.

The next time Draco lifted his head from Harry’s shoulder to wipe at his eyes, the common room was empty. Most likely Hermione’s doing, he thought wryly. Honestly, he would be surprised if Hermione had chosen their spots on the couch to result in this seating arrangement. Far too cunning for her own good, and for Draco’s.

“What were you talking about with Hermione when Ron and I came in?” Harry mumbled, sending a puff of air onto the skin of Draco’s neck and making him shiver. But Draco was pleased, far too pleased really, that Harry hadn’t made to shove him away even though he had calmed down.

“She had some theories about the spellwork on your mystery Howlers that she wanted to run by me.” He risked a glance up at Harry’s face. “You don’t have any ideas who it is, do you?”

The pout that appeared on Harry’s face was so cute it nearly made Draco swoon. By Merlin, he was weak. “No, I don’t,” Harry sighed. “I would really like to know. I can’t focus on anything else.”

Draco swallowed, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, but asked, “Is there anyone you would like it to be?”

It was Harry’s turn to look away and hide his face, but Draco could still see the pink tips of his ears. “Maybe. Secret.”

“Well,” Draco said, ignoring the lump in his throat, “I hope it really is who you want it to be. I think that’d be really sweet.” _Even if it isn’t me_ , he added in his head. There was no way it could be him, after all, and Draco knew it. He was setting Harry up for disappointment.

But even so, Draco couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Harry’s grasp.

~/~/~/~/~

Ever since the rather embarrassing incident in the Common Room, Harry had been popping up where Draco least expected it and sprouting all these weird facts in order to start a conversation. For the first few days, Draco had jumped each time Harry came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, but now, Draco was used to the fact that Harry would appear to walk him to class or drag him off to the kitchens for an afternoon treacle tart snack, rambling about some muggles tried to use pigeons just like wizards used owls.

Draco still sent Harry a message every morning, but it had been over three weeks since he had sent the first message and it was starting to be too much. It had been refreshing and cathartic, at first, to send these letters, but now it was just painful, a reminder of what he yearned for but could never have. Harry sent Draco these looks, sometimes, that made Draco feel just a tiny sliver of hope. And that was dangerous.

And he had told Harry so in the previous day’s letter, told him that today would be the last one. That as much as Draco loved writing to Harry—though he didn’t give his name, of course—that the pain was too much to bear.

Hermione had sent Draco a sorrowful glance when Harry repeated the contents of the message aloud, but Draco just looked away. He didn’t deserve her pity for this; he had gotten himself into this deplorable situation all on his own, and he deserved whatever suffering that brought him.

Harry had looked so disappointed that Draco had almost changed his mind. Almost. But no, he had to be strong. Before he drove himself into insanity. It was especially hard since he had begun to spend more time with Harry and his friends since the first night Hermione had forced them all together. So close yet so far, and it was unbearable.

So here Draco was, sitting in his usual breakfast spot with a sense of dread building in his stomach. There was no way he could actually eat his breakfast, not like this. But he had appearances to keep. It wouldn’t do to have anyone getting suspicious of him now. Besides, he wanted—no, he needed to see Harry’s reaction, no matter how much it hurt.

The Great Hall was silent enough to hear a pin drop as that same feisty owl swooped down to land on Harry’s head. Draco had planned to get a different owl every day to hide his tracks, but after seeing how well Harry took to the little menace, well, he couldn’t choose any other. Especially not after Harry had affectionately named the owl Salazar.

Harry’s hands shook as the message played out across the room, no longer layered behind a fake antagonistic message. “I love you more than you could ever know, Harry, but you’re an idiot. If you don’t know who I am by now, I’ve gotten Hermione to promise to slap you.”

The ripples of laughter running through the room were silenced when Hermione stood up. “Well?” she demanded, one hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Do I need to slap you after all?”

Harry bit his lip bashfully, but he was clearly hopeful as he asked, “Is it…is it who I think it is?”

Hermione’s stern demeanor softened, and Draco watched with heart in his throat. After a torturous silence, Hermione finally nodded, her eyes flicking to Draco. “Yes.”

Draco was frozen in his seat as Harry stood and crossed the room. This was not how this was supposed to go at all. Harry was supposed to be the oblivious and thick-headed Gryffindor he’s always been, not actually figure out that Draco was the one behind all the messages. Merlin help him.

There was a warm hand under his chin, and suddenly Draco was no longer looking down at the table, but rather up into Harry’s searching eyes. His eyes were alight with something, but Draco didn’t think it was anger. Still, he couldn’t help but flinch at the intensity of Harry’s gaze.

“Draco,” Harry breathed, and then Draco was being pulled to his feet and wrapped in a hug. “Draco,” Harry repeated, this time breathing into Draco’s shoulder. Draco felt faint.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“No, don’t be sorry,” said Harry, squeezing him harder. Draco was suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of Harry’s scent, and Merlin, that made it hard to think. His mind was going in circles, still unable to fully comprehend what was going on. “I’m so glad it was you.”

Draco pulled back, partly out of shock and partly out of the need to look at Harry’s face to make sure he wasn’t joking. “I—you—what?”

Harry shook his head fondly. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed by now.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips over Draco’s. “I like you, you idiot.”

In the back of his head, Draco knew that the entire student body, not to mention all the staff, were currently watching their exchange. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when Harry was finally this close to him. “Four years,” Draco croaked, blinking rapidly to keep his tears in check. “I’ve loved you for four years, Harry. Don’t call me an idiot.”

“Well, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Take a guess, Harry,” Draco drawled, pulling back a bit shooting Harry a rather unimpressed look. Though Harry’s idiocy was rather helpful—it was helping Draco to realize that Harry was being entirely serious, and that he wasn’t somehow possessed. “We weren’t even talking until a few weeks ago. How was I to know you wouldn’t smash my face in and dump my body in the lake?”

“Point taken,” Harry said, dragging a hand through his hair bashfully. Draco noticed that Harry’s hair was still kinked from the braids Draco had given him yesterday, taking a page from Luna’s book. “I guess I’m the idiot.”

“Oi!” came a yell from across the room. “Harry, mate, are you going to kiss him already, or what? We’re all waiting.”

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed, elbowing Ron in the side. “Don’t you dare—”

Draco just threw his head back and laughed, then fixed an expectant gaze on Harry. “So, are you going to kiss me, or am I going to be left waiting?”

Harry was, needless to say, happy to oblige. And Draco thought he might just come to like Weasley after all.


End file.
